It drips
by TenshiXXX
Summary: Although my eyes flickered towards the knife drawer on more than one occasion, blood-lust rising within me, I took one look at him and couldn't do it. In the darkness of the night, I cursed him with the worst insults I knew, spitting them past my tears.


_drip drip drip_

Blood is such a curious thing, isn't it? It gleams on the knife, sticky and sweet-smelling. Mother lies on her back, arms thrown apart like a sacrificial victim. Her hair hangs over her pretty face, matted, wet, black. I reach out to push it out of the way, but it is stuck fast to her face with congealed crimson. She is like a broken rag doll now, thrown by the child who has outgrown it.

She deserves it. She didn't listen. She called him a liar and slapped him, her eyes wide and scared. She didn't want it to be true. _She didn't_. But neither did I. Yet it was.

She had slapped him. Slapped his perfect face with a cruel hand. That was not the action of a nurturing mother. That was the act of a monster. She wasn't my mother. She was Grendel's.

The bruise formed quickly, lying livid against his face like a purple blossom. The blood that trickled from the corner of his lips was red like a rose.

She looked sorry. I will grant her that much. But it makes no difference. She didn't listen. She didn't believe him. She was sorry for the wrong reasons. She deserves it, the monster that she was. She hurt him just as much as _him_. Nobody to trust. Nobody to help him. Why would he ask me for help? I was ten. He didn't want me involved. Now who is foolish?

I tried to help. I tiptoed into his room when I could, curling into him like a faithful little puppy. He only relaxed when I was there. I could protect him in this way. _He _wouldn't come if I was there.

Sometimes, though, _he _would make me go back to bed, and I'd put my head underneath the pillow so that I couldn't hear.

It never worked. He was very quiet for the most part, but the walls could not hide all. Mother didn't hear, of course. Mother never heard.

I vowed revenge on both of them. But everytime I entered the kitchen to see him, hollow-eyed and in pain, sitting cautiously on a the hard wooden chair, I could do nothing but make him some warm tea and offer him painkillers. He accepted the tea gratefully, cracked lips bending into a genuine smile, yet painkillers were refused. I was intelligent enough to know that _he _wanted him to be in pain- to remember it everytime he made a move.

And although my eyes flickered towards the knife drawer on more than one occasion, blood-lust rising within me, I took one look at _him _and couldn't do it. In the darkness of the night, I cursed him with the worst insults I knew, spitting them past my tears. Except...when I came face-to-face with the beast, I did nothing. I was a coward. I needed incentive- an extra push.

It was on his 17th birthday that I crept to his room. There was no keyhole on the door, because _he _didn't want him to lock him out. I was lucky- or unlucky, depending on your perspective. He had left the door open at a crack, relishing his power, knowing with certainty that nobody would dare to do anything. It was through this crack that I peered.

Instantaneously, treacherous tears snuck down my face. I bit back a wild snarl of anger-mingled-pain.

He was lying in the middle of the bed, moonlight illuminating his thin body pale blue, showing me enough to know that he was completely nude. His body seemed to be injury-free for the moment. Maybe _he _was being merciful, as it was his birthday.

"Itachi," spoke a voice in the darkness.

"Yes, father?" Itachi responded, like a programmed automaton. His eyes were closed, black lashes lying against his sharp cheekbones. He didn't want to see. I didn't either. I continued to watch, though. This would be my incentive one day. And I could not wait for the moment to come when he, that soul-sucking creature, would be frailer and I would be stronger so I could do it- so I could make him _suffer_.

"Come here," It said. I begged him not to inside my head, coward that I was. At first, I thought my pleas had been granted. Itachi let out a short sigh and stayed in position. But then It spoke those words that are branded onto my memory like a burn from an iron.

"Shall I go to see Sasuke?" It asked, face cold.

Itachi stumbled onto unsteady feet and dragged himself over, his eyes at half-mast. Maybe seeing a little was better than seeing everything.

"Good," It grunted, "Do you remember what I said would happen if you continued to disobey me? Do you remember what I said would happen if your grades were any less than perfect?"

"Yes," Itachi whispered, voice hoarse. Silence. I held my breath in case they heard me. Then...

"On your knees," It murmured. Itachi did so, sinking to the wooden floor with a hollow thud. It was just as well. I was unable to stifle a sob at that moment. It made me wonder whether Itachi knew I was there.

The sound of his belt buckle was jarring in the ensuing silence. I bit my knuckles until blood burst forth, seeping out of the small incisions, as the button on his trousers was popped, and the zip slid down at a torturous tortoise-pace.

He unveiled it as though he was unveiling something of great worth and importance: slowly, slowly, and with relish. And there it was, pointing at Itachi mockingly, dripping at the tip.

"You know what to do," It said, pressing the domed head against Itachi's lips. Itachi closed his eyes and immediately opened his mouth to his father's penis. It slid inside until nearly all of it was within. It made me wonder how often he made him do this. Then, I felt like slapping myself- had I not heard and seen the evidence all those times?

"Good," It cooed, a large scarred hand twisting into Itachi's ponytail, "Very good. Just like I taught you. _Yessss_,"

I retched, but nothing came up. My father's moans filled my eyes with a cacophony of perversion as he yanked Itachi's hair like a tow rope, pulling him closer until his face was pressed against wiry curls.

"Yes," It repeated harshly, shoving Itachi back so that he crashed to the ground, skimming his elbows, "Good boy. Do you like that?"

When no answer was forthcoming, It moved menacingly forwards and leaned over Itachi's prone form.

"Well?" It said.

"No," Itachi replied, his head turned towards the door.

"Of course not," It said, pulling Itachi up by a thin arm, "So will you behave from now on?"

"It is impossible to get full marks on that test," Itachi told him. It was a minor act of rebellion.

"Not for an Uchiha," It sneered, face centimetres away from Itachi's. Itachi's eyes closed.

"Now finish it," It growled, pulling Itachi's head towards his groin, "Or Sasuke will receive the same...punishment aswell. It's lucky he's your mother's favourite, or his failures would be punished similarly,"

My face contorted with disgust. I didn't want to be her favourite. She hurt him, and I hated her. She would have to go too, when I finally brought down the axe.

That...beast of depravity was thrusting, using, defiling Itachi's mouth. The same mouth that taught me things to give me that edge when I did my homework. The same mouth that smiled at me, pretending that everything was fine, when it really wasn't. The same mouth that kissed my forehead every night as he tucked me up into a cocoon of blankets.

I couldn't stand it. I knocked the door like the foolish child Itachi sometimes called me. Everything fell silent. I first thought that they were waiting for me to go away.

There was a rustle of clothing, and the door opened. I stood there, hoping that the darkness would hide my guilty face and teary eyes.

"Sasuke," Itachi said, his face calm and his body clothed. It was difficult to believe that, not moments ago, he had been sexually abuse by his own father.

"I-I couldn't sleep," I said, trying to sound as innocent as possible, "Can I stay with you?"

For a brief instant, I thought he was going to say no, so that I would not be privy to his suffering. A nod was my answer nevertheless. He couldn't say no when he'd normally say yes- he couldn't say no to me for anything. I hoped that the miniscule grain of selfishness that must reside within him somewhere had seen the benefits of my presence.

I walked into the room slowly, flashing the smallest of smiles at Itachi. When I saw It, I acted surprised.

"Father?" I asked, the word tasting like pig swill in my mouth, "What are you doing here?"

His silence unnerved me. Itachi moved closer to me protectively.

"Maybe you should go back to bed," he said, giving a valiant effort at smiling at me.

"I don't want to," I said stubbornly, "Please, niisan?"

"Yes, Itachi," It spoke chillingly from the shadows, "Let him stay,"

Itachi's mask dropped and was replaced by one of terror.

"Sasuke, go to bed," he said, pushing me gently towards the door.

"Don't disobey me, Itachi," It said warningly as I stopped dead in my tracks. It stepped out of the shadows. His trousers were still open, showing his spit-slicked penis. His next words chilled me to the bone.

"Take your clothes off, Sasuke," It said. Itachi stepped in front of me protectively, like a mother she-wolf guarding her cub.

"No," Itachi said, his voice shaky, "I will do anything you ask and I won't complain. Just don't touch him,"

His smile was terrible. His teeth seemed feral in the moonlight.

"I won't touch him," It said, "But you will,"

My limbs felt heavy, like sticks of flesh and bone, as Itachi shook his head in denial, the first tear I had ever seen him shed sliding down his cheek like liquid diamond.

"You will, or I'll do it myself," It growled, "You don't get to choose your own punishment. But first...,"

He fisted his own erection lewdly, spreading around the spit and fluid.

"Finish what you started,"

Itachi glanced at me and I looked back confidently. I didn't want him to know that I was scared. That would only upset him more.

"Could Sasuke go outside?" Itachi asked, his expression pleading. He knew it was futile. But he was willing to try anyway, to spare me the pain and trauma of having to witness this.

"Of course not, Itachi," It said frigidly, "Now come here. It's getting late and I need to be up for work tomorrow,"

My nails drew blood as they dug into my palms. He spoke as though we were inconveniencing him- as though it was our fault that he had decided to become an abusive, vindictive parody of a man.

Itachi looked back over his shoulder at me as he walked towards him. The tear still glistened on his cheek. His eyes fluttered closed as he leaned forwards blindly, relying on him to guide him. It wasn't that poor excuse for a father that he didn't want to see anymore. It was me. He didn't want me to see his shame. So I turned away, looking at the wall. There was a picture of use from last year at the festival. I looked away, choked.

"What are you waiting for, boy?" It asked me from across the room, voice unsteady, "Strip,"

I made the mistake of looking at them and nearly hurled. He was pulling Itachi's hair until it was as taught as a bow string, pushing into his mouth, drawing back, pushing in, drawing back, in a slow, taunting rhythm. Saliva slid down Itachi's chin as he kept his mouth open, his eyes screw shut. And all the while, he was watching him with an unholy expression on his face. It was only then that it dawned on me that, although he claimed it was punishment for Itachi's failures, this man enjoyed every moment of it. He wanted Itachi in a way no father should. I could tell by the lust in his eyes. It was perverse and disgusting and it only made me hate him more.

"You're so good at this," It rasped out, rocking hips against Itachi's face. Under normal circumstances, this may be considered a compliment. But under these conditions, that comment was insulting, and a humiliating reminder of who was doing this to him, lest he forget.

As if he could.

And then came the grand finale. With a solid grip on Itachi's ponytail, he kept Itachi close as that foul liquid splashed into his mouth, choking him. When he released him, he sank to the floor in a jumble of limbs, coughing, with his father's product dripping down his chin until it created an off-white puddle on the floor.

"Next time, swallow," the monster said, kicking Itachi in the ribs. Itachi didn't even cry out, despite the angry puce bruise that was already forming on his side. I retched again.

"Niisan," I whimpered. I couldn't help it. I wanted to be strong for him, but it was impossible. I couldn't stand the sight of my beloved brother being hurt like this. I had my incentive now. If I wanted to, I could have ran into the kitchen to get mother's meat cleaver and happily gone to work on Its face. Oh yes. I had incentive. Perhaps a little too much.

"I'm alright, otouto," Itachi said, getting to his feet. It was painful to watch.

"I won't tell you again," the monster said, "Take your clothes off,"

My fingers felt like lumps of ice as my nails scrabbled against my tiny buttons, trying to pry them undone. I swallowed bile as I shucked off my pyjama pants and boxers, standing nude before my brother and father. I was an early bloomer, as were most men in my family, so I had already ventured into puberty. Yet I was not fully mature. I had a slight dusting of hair around my groin, and, while I was able to get hard (which I had discovered with some embarrassment), I had never ejaculated because I had never tried.

Despite my current glaring inadequacies, which I would grow out of in time, I kept my hands at my sides and my chin up. I refused to be intimidated. Nevertheless, I flinched as my father stared at my body as though assessing me, like a piece of meat produce.

"Well, Itachi?" he said, pushing him towards me with a hand at the base of Itachi's back. Itachi stumbled forwards slightly, but stopped short of me, his eyes closed with an agonised expression on his face.

"It's OK, niisan," I told him, "I'm not scared,"

"I can't," Itachi said, a salty tear making its way down his face.

"It's you or me," It said from the shadows, his voice permeated with impatience, "Decide now. Either way, you'll be punished,"

Itachi made his decision. I stood very still as he dropped to his knees in front of me and placed his hands gently on my hips. He looked up at me with dark eyes. Mercifully, he shucked off his pyjama top and wiped his face with it. I couldn't erase the horrifying image of my brother covered in our father's semen, though.

I could feel his breath against my groin. It was harsh and fast as he fretted over what he was about to do. What caused me the most pain was the fact that I knew he would never get over this. It would scar him far more than anything he had done in the past. He had worked so hard to shield me from this. And now I had destroyed all of his hard work when I made the stupid move of interfering. I didn't regret it, though. I wanted to share in his pain, so that I didn't feel so guilty. Yet I _didn't_ want to share in his pain, because that made him feel guilty, and I didn't want to burden his conscience on top of everything else.

"It's OK," I repeated, tentatively touching his hair. It was damp with sweat.

"No, it isn't," he said, "I'm sorry, Sasuke,"

The first thing I noticed was the heat. It was so so warm, and, in a sick way, I could see why my father would want to do this. It made me shiver, and clutch Itachi's hair tighter. Then, I noticed how moist it was. The combination of the two, the slick heat, was incredible. And I felt myself enjoying it. My body loved the sensation of my brother's mouth around my maturing penis. My mind and heart hated it.

I began to cry. I was pathetic. I was nearly 11 years old, and I was crying. Had I cared what It thought of me, I might have been ashamed.

Itachi pulled back and smiled at me in a comforting manner.

"It will be over soon," he said, linking hands with me. I held onto them like a lifeline, afraid that, if I let go, we would be torn apart forever.

He went back to work. The consoling grip he had on my hands was a horrible contrast with the act that he was currently performing on me.

Father was evil. I couldn't formulate any other explaination for the damage and psychological destruction he was inflicting upon his own flesh and blood. His sick desires had taken over, and he was nothing like the supportive, wonderful father he pretended to be when in the public eye. Why couldn't he had kept his needs to himself? Why did he have to inflict pain upon others just because he could? I had the feeling that I could have shouted my questions to the heavens, and it wouldn't have mattered- nobody would have answered.

"You're nearly there," Itachi said, squeezing my hands as he pulled back from my shaking body for a moment, "Just a little longer,"

"Get on with it," It interrupted. So Itachi did. My entire penis disappeared into his mouth as he sucked on it furiously. I didn't cry. I had no tears left. I felt hollow and raw, as though my insides had been carved out with sandpaper.

I could only twitch as pleasure heightened. I tried to ignore the fact that my first sexual experience was with my brother. I tried to ignore the fact that I was only 11. But ignoring the problem doesn't make it go away. It's like ignoring an infected wound. It just allows it to fester, until there is nothing anyone can do to rectify the damage.

When I orgasmed, it was with a sob. Itachi would have drawn back to save me the humiliation of ejaculating into his mouth, but father growled at Itachi to stay there. As a result, what little seminal fluid my body was able to produce at this stage in puberty was emptied into my brother's mouth.

I felt like a monster.

"I'm sorry," Itachi whispered as I slid to the floor and wrapped my arms around my legs. He hugged me close, and I pressed my face into his shoulder, "I'm so sorry,"

2 days later, mother screamed. I ran into the living room to find Itachi holding a dripping knife, and grappling furiously with father, who was bleeding profusely from a bloody wound in his shoulder. I remember screaming at Itachi to kill him, to slash him, to cut him to ribbons. Mother stared at me as though I was the monster. She needed to look in the mirror.

The police arrived not long after mother called them. It took three men to remove one skinny 17-year-old from a bloody body. I hoped he was dead. I really hoped he was dead. I even said so, solemnly, to the nearest police officer, who stared at me like I was a psycho.

Itachi was arrested and escorted to the police station, where he was kept until the court decided that he was not of sound mind and belonged in an institution. Mother wouldn't let me see him. I told her to die, to die painfully. She knew what was happening, but she hadn't listened. I liked the look of pain that crossed her face.

That night, I ran away. I ran to my friend Sakura's house, and stayed with her and her parents. They believed me. They're not like mother. When the police came looking for me, they hid me in the attic that could only be accessed via a door in Sakura's room, which was wallpapered over because Sakura had always been scared of that door and what was behind it. The police didn't find me. I held back a vindictive laugh.

Sakura worried about me. She said that my obsession with vengeance on my parents- no, my egg and sperm donors- was frightening. I told her to mind her own business. She didn't understand, and, until she did, she should have kept her opinions to herself.

We grew up as brother and sister. I didn't go to school. That would have been too risky. I stayed at home and read Sakura's books every now and again. Her parents had an in-home gym that I utilised every day. I knew that, if I wanted to take down father and mother, I needed to be strong, both physically and mentally. I buried any tendrils of warmth for anyone other than my brother. And I furiously worked out, learning martial arts and kickboxing, knife-fighting and swordsmanship, from videos Sakura and her parents bought me.

It's 5 years to the day that Itachi tried to kill father. I had my turn tonight. Unlike Itachi, I succeeded.

Father lies at the bottom of the stairs, his body twisted from the fall. His face is hacked beyond recognition. I loved ripping through his flesh with the knife. The trail of blood leads from the top of the stairs to the bottom, like a macabre mockery of a bread trail. His genitals are nailed to the wall like a trophy. I yank them off despite the knife suspending them there, tearing them.

Mother is in the kitchen where she fell. She was dead before the stove caught on fire, so I wasn't entirely cruel. I wonder how long it will take before the whole house is nothing more than a pile of cinders?

The walk to the police station is a happy one. I have completed my revenge, and it tastes oh so sweet. Father's genitals are wrapped in his socks. I need some proof that I killed them, because the majority of evidence will have been destroyed by the blaze that I can see even over the treetops. I hear sirens in the distance, and laugh. It's too late. Nothing can save them now.

I walk into the police station, soaked in blood with the murder weapon in one hand and the mutilated genitals in the other. I throw them onto the front desk, ignoring the screams of terror.

"I murdered my parents," I tell the police officer on duty, "There's the weapon, there's the proof,"

I give him a sick grin as he looks inside the socks and promptly goes green.

I am willingly escorted to my cell, where I spend the night. The next day, I am given a full psychological assessment, and the quack decides that I have cracked because of deep trauma. I tell him what happened. He nods understandingly and offers me a tissue. It is only then that I realise I am crying.

Prison is no place for me, they decide. No, I belong in an institution. I am mentally unstable, according to the psychiatrist, and I need help if I am to be cured. Yet I need to be segregated from normal society, because my mental state is dangerous, and they don't want to risk it. I tell them that I harboured the desire to kill my parents only, and, now I have done it, I am no longer a threat to anyone. He is skeptical and decides to send me to an institute anyway. I am allowed to choose which one, though.

"I want to be sent to the one which holds Uchiha Itachi," I tell him. The quack is a nice man, if not a little bizarre, with a head full of grey hair, an eye-patch and a thin scarf wrapped around his lower face. He tells me that his lover works there as a therapist, so my brother is in good hands.

Soon, I am tranquilised and bundled into a vehicle with an armed guard and an army of doctors. The institution is a large building that looks more like a manor house than a home for the insane. They know that a new patient is coming, because, when I get there, everybody is standing outside. There are about 20 patients, and about twice as many medical professionals. The patients don't appear insane. But what would I know? I don't think I'm insane either. Yet the courts think I am.

The tranquiliser has worn off, so I am able to leave the van without assistance. I look around for him instantly. There he is, standing beside an enormous black man, and behind a blond boy. He is taller than he was, and taller than me. His eyes are no longer hollow, and he has gained enough weight to be healthy. His long hair is as I remember it, though, as are his kind eyes. He's wearing nail polish, I notice with bemusement.

"Itachi," I say softly. Nobody stops me when I rush towards him. I knock into the blond boy in my haste.

"Watch it, asshole," he snaps.

"Fuck off!" I growl back.

"Language," Itachi warns with a smal smile. I throw myself at him, hugging him. It must be raining. But only my face is wet. Hn, so I'm crying then.

He's crying too, and I think, considering the circumstances, our reactions are perfectly justifiable. The black man laughs not unkindly, and Itachi calls him Kisame, telling him to shut up because he's ruining the moment. Kisame's response makes my cheeks feel hot. I am glad Itachi has found somebody, even if he is a fellow patient. Judging by Kisame's talk, he has taken the thing that father never did, for fear of leaving behind too much evidence. It's good that father left him one bit of himself to give to somebody else.

"I did it, niisan," I say, my fingers almost digging into his shoulders, "I did it,"

He understands. I knew he would.

"I know," he says.


End file.
